


Gonna Get There Soon

by idonthaveawittycomeback



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-21 16:50:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11948493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idonthaveawittycomeback/pseuds/idonthaveawittycomeback
Summary: A series of vignettes looking into a relationship compromised by distance and what it takes to bridge that gap. Or alternatively, of airports and airplanes and ironies and middle grounds and yeah, falling in love.





	1. Give in to everything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Okay, let's do this.)
> 
> Soooooo... this is my first stab at this--please take it easy on me.  
> This is borne out of reading this (popular) story way too much. The airport scenes have done a number on me. So um, shout out to @captainmurca and Youth, the inspiration behind this mess.
> 
> Oh and... perhaps you might wanna listen to Broods' Bedroom Doors, this chapter's soundtrack. Just sayin'...

 

_The irony isn't lost on her._

 

It’s amusing when she thinks about it, really. As it is, she'd all but coaxed herself and committed to memory her go-to mantra how it’s all in the head. It’s all in _her_ head (cue in Shawn Mullins’ soft rock anthem). It’s laughable even. She’s managed to go to such lengths of breaking out and adopting that old adage of mind-over-matter- _and_ -all-that-shit like her sanity depended on it. Maybe it does… maybe it doesn’t. Who even knows? It’s not like she has any other choice in the matter. Not really. What with this, her chosen career path; this, her  _profession_. 

 

If anyone were to ask her though, even after all this time, it somehow never ceases to fascinate her how her life turned out. She picked up a ball one day when she was four— _on a whim_ —and then fast forward to two decades plus some change later, she’s suddenly where she is… doing what it is she’d fallen in love with, those oh-so many moons ago.

 

But like seriously, who could've guessed that this scrawny girl from Basking Ridge, who vehemently detests airplanes and flying with such _zealous_ passion (it could may as well be called sacrilegious), would grow up to be a jet-setting, trolley-wheeling, living-out-of-a-suitcase professional athlete? 

 

[Kindly see photographic evidence #108: here she is pictured at age 6 mouth agape mid-wail on the foreground as her mom desperately pulls her bear-claw grip away from the counter by the terminal gate, as seen in the background <IMG108.jpg>]

  
She would con _test_ (no surprise there) notwithstanding how that rhetoric could be deemed inaccurate. And in the interest of transparency, she’d be the first to point out that, she’s always _kind of_ known. Well, _fine_ … sure, let’s amend that: she’d decisively known.

 

She's always known. Even at a young and tender age—soccer was her life. Soccer _would_ be her life. Soccer _is_ life. And that the nonstop globe-trotting would've been her inevitable reality. Causality and outcome. Action and reaction. _Cause and effect_. Whatever else you’d want to call it. And frankly, that was the kind of future she pretty much has resigned herself to as early as she could remember.  

  
Hence, the more appropriate footnote really would've been, why she'd ever allow herself to be subjected to such cruel and excruciating torment. 

  
To be fair, she is far from being a masochist (read: still quite undecided what her stance/comfort level is on the matter whether it be outside or be _hind_ the bedroom doors  <subtle _wink, wink_ >).

 

So, yeah. The irony is not completely lost on her. Not by a long shot, it isn’t.

 

She looks up from her Switch and scans the overhead monitors for the day’s flight schedules. She's been stranded in this airport for close to 2 hours now; her flight delayed because of  _severe_  weather conditions. She honestly thought the thunderstorm would’ve cleared out soon and even prayed for divine intervention. Unluckily, to no avail.

 

She squints her eyes against the all-too bright lights in a lackadaisical attempt to decipher—those bruising and invasive lights seem to always remind her of her dentist appointments somehow. There's no new update though. The overhead monitors still flash in bold yellow and capital letters that sadly, her flight would not be boarding in the next hour or two. 

 

She does however, perk up a little when she turns her gaze out on the glass wall panels. And judging from the conditions outside, which she could visibly see at least, the rain seemed to have let up. 

 

Emboldened by this tiny sliver of hope, she puts down her game, stretches out her legs and gingerly walks over to the counter by her gate.  

 

"Hey there!" She smiles in greeting at the attendant behind the counter. "I know it says my flight's still delayed but um... any word if we'll actually fly out tonight?” She worries her bottom lip against her teeth. “Looks like the weather's calmed down a bit though." She steels her expression to a lopsided beam, keeping the huge grin in an attempt to somehow mask her restlessness. 

 

"It does look like the skies are clearing up..." The attendant, who look to be in her mid-40s, offers her a sympathetic smile in agreement. "Let me check that for you real quick..." 

 

She leans on the counter lazily, folding both her arms flat on the surface so she can rest her chin on them as she watches the attendant tinker with a few files on the computer screen in calm and cool detachment.

 

"Huh. Hmmm...” The woman behind the counter starts clucking her tongue. “ _Well_ , let’s see here… there aren’t any new updates from control tower.” The woman drawls out. “No one’s really expected it’d come down like this…”

 

“Yeah... thought it was never gonna stop.” She nods in assent. “So um… when d’you think we’d get an update? Supposing we start getting clear skies from here on out?”

 

“We’re waiting to hear back within the next hour or so. Wish I could give you a more concrete timeline… And we truly do apologize for the delay and the inconvenience, dear. I can just imagine how anxious you must be to get going already.”

 

"Oh... okay." She musters a tight-lipped smile.

 

“Don’t you worry though, _I'll_ be sure to keep you posted as soon as we get the green light to start letting passengers board." The attendant smiles at her encouragingly.

 

"Dang weather sure knows how to throw a leftie when it wants to, huh?" She deadpans in a self-deprecating fashion.

 

"Can’t be helped I guess.” The woman shrugs casually. “I'm Lori, by the way", the attendant introduces herself, extending her right hand. "Is there anything else I can help you with perhaps?"  

 

She takes Lori's hand and shakes it. "Nah... I'm good, Lori." She waves her off. "Thanks for asking though." 

 

"Well I'm gonna be here the entire night so you just let me know if there's anything you'd need, dear." Lori smiles at her with kind eyes. 

 

"Yeah sure, I will. Thanks again." She tries to return Lori’s warm smile but it somehow ends up in an awkward grimace.

 

Defeated, she trudges back to her section of chairs and flops down, pulling out her phone from the inside pocket of her leather jacket. 

 

She scrolls to the first entry on her Favorites and calls the all-too familiar number. Voicemail.  _Greaaaaat_ , just her luck. She decides to leave a message instead. 

 

"Hey... so uh... I'm still here. Stuck in the airport. Plane hasn’t left yet. So no, it wasn’t like I was running late or anything and it left me. I was hoping the weather would've let up by now. Darn, you must be in flight already." She looks up and checks her watch. "So yeah um... don't—you don't have to wait up. I'll just... I'll take an Uber  **if**  and  **when**  my flight gets in. You be safe. Lo..." 

 

_Beep_. 

 

She lets out a deep breath and buries herself further into the barely cushiony bench, drooping her head back on her Kånken and putting her feet up as she struggles against what can be considered comfortable in a typical airport setting. 

 

Fun fact (her version of what’s considered fun _and_ factual, that is): Even worse than flying itself, **nothing** can begin to compare to a red-eye. And she would enthusiastically nod her affirmation that red-eyes take the cake. Hands down. Period. That, along with the whipped cream and the cherries on top and yeah, you could even throw in the luscious and gooey caramel and chocolate syrup ganache. Like seriously, don’t even get her started because she can pretty much spin her inane antagonism into quite an impressive dissertation.

 

She’s found, through a deeply-rooted and highly personal experience, that more often than not, those flights get delayed or even worse, cancelled. But alas, beggars can't really be choosers and at the end of the day, she'll take what she can get. 

 

The consolation however (glass half-full all-the-way-yay) in booking a flight this late/early in the day is that, foot traffic is almost _al_ ways guaranteed to be at an all-time low that she doesn't risk getting recognized that easily.

 

You see, as much as she prides herself in being this Homo sapiens sapiens 3-D embodiment of a grinning face with smiling eyes emoji, airports tend to get the better of her. They always end up making her antsy that she just can't and won't want to deal with people she really doesn't have to. She supposes that holds true for _most_ people… (the highly evolved ones, they get it).

 

Lady luck's on her side tonight though. As tonight’s proven not any different as she finds herself by her lonesome amongst the rows of nearly empty chairs and benches; save from a handful of stragglers seated far enough away to appease her steeping uneasiness.  

 

She counts this in the win column. Grateful for the miracle of small blessings and all. 

 

She pulls down her snapback to partially cover her face and proceeds to close her eyes in silent prayer. 

 

She prays for the weather to get better. And just, for her flight to start boarding sooner rather than later. She implores for the needed patience and her distressingly waning resolve. But most of all? She just asks for time. _Some_ time. A little bit more time that could be perhaps, spared even? She needs time. That elusive hack of a social construct which, she just doesn't seem to have enough of. 

  
It finally takes another 3 hours and she's walking out of another airport and booking an Uber in a frenzy. 

 

Ten minutes later, a coral white Lexus pulls up at the arrivals bay. She ambles groggily inside and turns her attention back to her phone, which has the 5 unread messages she'd purposely ignored earlier in her haste to book her ride. 

 

She knows all too well who they're all from and can only guess that all the messages contain different and varying degrees of both worry and borderline post-apocalyptic dread ( _some_ one can really be extra ~~some~~ / ~~most of the~~ / ~~at times~~ **_all the freaking time_** ). All of which, would for sure be coming from her severely snuggle-deprived sender.

 

She peers at her watch again: **4:27 AM**. Based on her phone's time stamp, the last message that came in had been sent 2 hours prior. She would've preferred to call but she knows better. So instead, she fires off a reply without back reading the other messages. 

 

_Be there in 30._ \- **04:29**

 

Not a minute passes when she's startled as her phone starts ringing from her lap. 

 

Her brows furrow as she answers, "What're you doing still up? I thought I said not to wait up." 

 

"Well hello to you, too." Was the curt comeback she gets in response.

 

"Hey... don't—" She gazes out the window with tired and weary eyes. "Sorry. I just... It’s late. And your flight got in—what, 5, 6 hours ago? Not to mention you did a full 90 tonight. You’re bone tired for sure and... just..." She releases the breath she doesn’t even realize she’d been suppressing.

 

The other line goes quiet. She glances at her phone real quick to see if the call had dropped but the seconds keep ticking by. She brings it back to her ear. 

 

"I just think... You know, you need to sneak in as much sleep as you can. Those minutes are bound to catch up on you." She all but whimpers, her tone heavy with self-reproach.

 

She's only met with further silence. Hushed, deafening silence which proved infinitely worse than a screaming match. And at that exact moment, she’d rather get yelled at than wallow and suffer in the quiet. If it wasn't for the steady breathing she hears on the other end, she would've assumed the line got disconnected for real this time. 

 

"Can we _please_ not—" 

 

"I was worried about you, o _kay_? I was worried and I couldn't sleep even though you’re right, I am _be_ yond exhausted and I thought that if I’d just lie in our bed and close my eyes I’d eventually fall asleep but then I couldn’t no matter how hard I tried so I just kept refreshing The _stupid_ Weather Channel app and then they were just saying to expect severe thunderstorms in your area so then I just _had_ to keep trolling JetBlue's website but it just kept saying your flight's delayed and nothing else and I didn't know... I didn't _know_ whether your flight got diverted to who knows where or you finally got in safe or..." The voice on the other end trails off. 

 

"The skies cleared up." She says in a matter-of-fact kind of way as if that statement alone bore the absolute truth of the universe. That somehow it could magically fix _any_ thing and _every_ thing. 

 

She hears rustling from the other end which has her picturing comfy sheets and fluffy pillows and getting sandwiched in the warmest and oh-so snuggliest of hugs. And just like that, she couldn't wait to collapse in the comfort of their cozy bed—where she’s for certain that a pair of warm and inviting arms await her as eagerly as she does.

 

"You know you didn't have to worry."

 

She overhears the woman sigh in reply.

 

"I sent you a text that we were boarding. I'd imagine Air Traffic Control wouldn't've green-lighted if the weather were still too wonky to fly out." She tries to reason.

 

"Regardless. Can’t you—" She picks up on the exasperated tone in an instant. "Of course _I'd_ worry. Even if you don’t want me to. I'll  _always_  worry. My god, how can I _not_ worry? Are you even for real saying—“

  
“No, no…” She sputters out, cutting off the brewing tirade effectively before it could escalate to something she knows they’re both not mentally and physically prepared for. It’s been a long day as it is and she could use a reprieve or two. She buries her face in her otherwise unoccupied hand. "I know you do..." She finally relents. “I just… I hate it that you do. Worry.”

 

“Well tough luck…” Her mouth curls up a tad bit at this. “You’ll just have to learn to deal.”

 

“I _guess_.”

 

“Good.” Her lips settle into a small smile. “Are you almost—“

 

"Yeah. Yeah... We're pulling in in 5. See you in a bit?" 

 

She almost doesn't hear the woman say " _okay_ " in reply as it's uttered in the softest of whispers. And then just like that, the call drops without warning.  

 

They pull in front of a quaint two-story Colonial sticking out like a sore thumb against the row of Craftsman’s and Cottage-style houses in the neighborhood. She likes it though. When they’ve decided to set up roots here, her only request was that it had to be a Colonial. She easily won that conversation; not like she was met with much opposition anyway. So as it follows, she ended up getting back a little piece of the East—her own home away from home.

 

She steps out of the sedan in almost a slow motion manner, slings her backpack on one shoulder haphazardly and saunters to the rear of the car to take out the duffel bag from the trunk. She gives her Uber driver a thumbs up and after a beat or two, she finds herself alone in the sidewalk, luggage boring down on her bleary frame.

 

She soaks up the view in front of her. The warm light coming from the porch feels stifling against the stillness of the early dawn. It’s as if a huge spotlight is cast in her direction, exposing the entrails of the previous day. All of a sudden, her bags are like lead on her shoulders as clouds of doubt and uncertainty and fear hang above her head. Her physical fortitude betrays her as fatigue creeps in.

 

It’s certainly the last thing she’d want to be dealing with right now. She doesn’t need these kinds of unwarranted reservations swimming around in her head at who-knows-what-time-it-is this early freaking morning. She can’t allow herself to give into her insecurities and start second guessing herself again.

 

She takes a calming breath, tilts her head up, closes her eyes and offers a solemn prayer. She’ll need all the strength she can muster so she can overcome these personal demons.

 

She whispers the Philippians verse she hangs onto like a lifeline to the darkness of dawn. She surrenders herself completely to her faith and lets her worries drown out to the heavens.

 

She taps to the Recents list on her phone and calls the entry at the very top.

 

“Everything okay?” She takes notice of the panic-laced response she gets instead of a greeting. “Do you need me to come down and get the door for you?”

 

“No… no. I’m good. I have my keys with me.” She fishes out her keys from her leather jacket, all the while juggling the luggage on each of her shoulders in careful ease. 

 

“Are you sure everything’s okay?” She gets asked again.

 

She takes in a deep breath and slowly exhales as she starts heading towards the front door. “Yeah… It’s fine. It’s just…”

 

“I know. I _know_...” She almost doesn’t register the response.

 

She unlocks the door. “Do you ever—“

 

“No regrets.” It’s voiced out with such fierce intensity in contrast to the previous reply that she’s slightly taken aback.

 

She drops the bags off her shoulders as she latches the lock back on. “Not even?“

 

“Not even.”

 

“Yeah?” She chews on her bottom lip.

 

“Yeah…” She hears a sigh escape from the other end of the line. “I know—I know everything’s been crazy these past few months, what with us juggling all these friendlies on top of the season’s. It’s like I haven’t seen you in forever even though we’ve been practically living on top of each other city after city. Funny how that is.”

 

“Mmm… Quite the understatement if I’d ever hear one.” She scoffs.

 

“When’s the last time we even got a decent break? You know… just the two of us together? Throwing caution to the wind.”

 

“I—I honestly can’t even remember.” She treads further into the house.

 

“It’s been brutal for sure. And that’s saying it lightly.” She stops by the stairs, waiting for the woman to finish her thoughts. “Despite all of that though. Despite the craziness and in spite of the constant distance. I hope you know… there’s no one I’d rather be doing this with, other than you. No one else but you.”

 

She deflates on the bottom step. “I’m an _asshole_.”

 

“You know you’re not.”

 

“Yes. Yes I am.” She stammers in nervous panic.

 

“You weren’t _that_ bad.”

 

“No, I was. I am. Just… just hear me out, okay? Please? I need to do this. I need to _say_ this.”

 

Silence.

 

“I’m sorry I was an asshole tonight. I’m sorry for being cranky… for letting that _stupid_ weather delay get the better of me. I’m sorry for making you worry and asking you not to. I’m sorry we don’t seem to have enough time—“

 

“Okay, stop. Just stop it.”

 

“No… let me finish. You need to hear this.”

 

“What’s important is, you’re here. _We’re_ here. And that’s all that matters.”

 

“I know that. But what you also need to know is… what I am sorry most of all, is the fact that I keep second guessing myself. I’m sorry I keep second guessing _us_. You de _serve_ the whole world at your feet and… and I want to make it my personal mission to make sure you get that. I’m done half-assing things. There’s absolutely no one I’d rather be doing this with. Just you…”

 

“You better make sure it stays that way.”

 

She chuckles softly at that. “I’m serious.”

 

“So am I.”

 

She pulls herself up. “I’m the worst, huh?”

 

“Meh… you’ve been worse. A lot worse.”

 

This time, she can’t help but cackle in animated fashion. “Yeah… you’re probably right about that.”

 

“Of course I’m right.” This woman is just too much for her and her carbon-based primitive heart.

 

“How’d you even know what I was gonna ask?”

 

“I know you a little.”

 

“Just a little?” She starts padding up the stairs in quiet acquiescence, kicking off her shoes when she reaches the top landing. She’ll for sure get an earful for doing that. But at that moment, she couldn’t be bothered to even care about potential broken ankles or worse, heaven forbid, paralysis.

 

“ _Maybe_ … Or maybe, I can read you like a book.”

 

She hums in admission. “You sure got me pegged.”

 

“Is that a bad thing?”

 

“Hmmm…” She pauses as she pretends to chew over the question. “I’ll have to get back to you on that.”

 

“What? Scared I’ll _cramp your style_?” She knows the girl is teasing so she decides to play along.

 

“Oh I don’t know… Can you put a damper on cool?”

 

“Ugh. We _get_ _it_.” She knows the woman’s already rolling her eyes in exaggeration. “Can’t copy cool.”

 

“I think you’d definitely give me a run for my money.” Her eyes dart towards the door of the master bedroom which had been left ajar.

 

“Now, you’re just patronizing. How rude.”

 

She smiles into the phone and pauses by the doorjamb. ”Thanks. You really—”

 

“I’m just glad you made it.”

 

She cautiously pushes the door open and tip toes inside.

 

"Hey babe? I'm home..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've snuck in a line from one of my all-time favorite writers in there. What do they say again about imitation and flattery?  
> Anywaaaaay, what do we think? Comment and stuff, would love to hear your thoughts.


	2. Knocks me right off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How's SWV's Weak for this chapter music of choice? Worth a listen whilst you skim through.  
> Also, google is your friend; tiny HP reference courtesy of that. Seen the movies, have yet to drown in print (bucket listed tho).

_If you can dream it, you can do it._

 

She’s never been one to shy away from admitting how privileged she is. She’d been fortunate enough to have been raised in a household which encouraged and supported her and her siblings’ hobbies and interests. Growing up, she was allowed to flourish and excel in her chosen sport. She’d been afforded to fall in love with the game with all of her being. All because of where she’d been born into.

 

She muses that not a lot of people would’ve been able to say that.

 

And it doesn’t not help that her mom’s just been stellar through all of it. Her mom is, first and foremost, her number one fan; always reminding her how she could do anything she’d set her mind to. Her and her siblings have all been brought up to understand the importance of hard work and perseverance in attaining goals that would’ve otherwise been deemed impossible. _If you can dream it, you can do it._ So when one fateful day on a family trip to Epcot she’d read that quote, she knew it’d be words that’ll resonate closely in her life.

 

That, or the fact that she’s just unapologetically stubborn (with no care nor abandon) to begin with, is anyone’s best guess. She’ll let you pick your poison though…

 

It’s in this way she finds herself again in an airport on a different city en route to yet another airport in a city that’s slowly (but surely) beginning to feel a lot like a second home. This time around though, she’s already waiting in line to board. She was actually lucky enough to get her flight switched over at the very last minute. She makes a quick mental note to get Rich a thank you basket delivered to his office for arranging this for her. 

 

The initial plan was coordinated early on during the pre-season; with all the necessary logistical nightmares ironed out and each of their own schedules worked around to ensure their off days would coincide. In paper, it had all been laid out perfectly. And it _had_ been, until a freak thunderstorm coming into the midseason threw a wrench in their best laid plans. Tragic as it maybe, this caused a chain of events, which resulted to games getting pushed out and ultimately messing everyone else's schedules around. In the end, they had no other choice but to cancel flights, rebook and hope against hope for the absolute best.  

 

And really, rescheduling  _was_  their plan, apart from the fact that no one had seemed to anticipate how obstinately bullheaded she could get and how completely undeterred she would be to follow through with their pre-season game plan. She was, after all, a woman on a mission. And her mission in this precise moment was solely zeroed in to that impromptu visit come hell or high water. 

 

So now, here she is, at an entirely separate terminal gate with an exclusively different boarding time from her teammates, patiently waiting to get on the flight which would allow the surprise visit courtesy of a 19-hour layover. A collateral detail which garnered more than her fair share of raised eyebrows and shell-shocked, flabbergasted reception as though she’d grown another head on her shoulder; which, she just flat-out acknowledged with a casual shrug in that true _can’t-copy-cool_ fashion.

 

She’d even overheard Kling fake-coughing back in the locker room what sounded like “whipped” causing her to roll her eyes despondently. And then there was Allie… Allie, who couldn’t, for the love of all things holy, stop grating on how she’d better come back with a ring on her left hand. And this? This she simply found nothing short of silly.

 

Sure, things have been going smoothly; despite their humongous elephant in the room, which this glaring distance has conveniently disguised itself into. And yeah, there haven’t been any full-blown arguments—there are fights, petty squabbling and minor dissension in opinions. Like for example, just the other day, a discourse, over the phone, around the benefits of cooking had been put out on the table.

 

She was being “coerced” (read: invited) to go on a cooking class over the minute time that they have during the off-season. She’d argued, expertly (in her opinion), on the merits of dining out and take-outs and even appealed to her person’s penchant for sentimentality. Essentially, she’d just pointed out that cooking would eat into the little amount of time they’d already have together; since it would require tedious load of prep work and the cleanup was not something she’d even want to get into. She’d countered how dining out and take-outs were “ _no muss, no fuss_ ” (her words, in verbatim) and even angled (too cunningly) how she’d rather they spend their alone time in a more horizontal position rather vertical—although, she did make sure to stress that they could definitely do vertical, just in a completely different, absolutely non-PG context. Of _course_ , the discussion got squashed right then and there and the parley veered off to… more of a dimly-lit-hotel-room-hands-sliding-under-the-covers type of tête-à-tête.

 

So yeah, there haven’t really been any disquieting _lovers’_ spat too blown-out of proportion that would result to trigger the alarm bells and sound the sirens. But at the same time, they just weren’t in that stage of their relationship yet where the big and capital letters M and C words would’ve been thrown in a conversation; let alone for it to be even considered a pillow-talk material for that matter. She has faith it’ll eventually lead up to there but just... they’re just not quite there yet.

 

So, that was that. She did manage to slip out of the locker room in one piece shortly after the game, only to race back to their hotel and pick up her things so she can haul ass to the airport and catch that 8 PM flight.

 

The flight is surprisingly at full capacity, which now makes her wonder whose arm Rich had to twist to even get her on. First and business class weren't viable options, something about a business conference or whatnot, so she finds herself seated in coach. Specifically, in the middle seat at the center aisle, stuck between a grumpier and meaner caricature of that old man in that cartoon with a pink-ish dog to her left and an obnoxious pre-teen Mean Girl-wannabe to her right. 

 

If she hadn’t already hated flying to begin with, by the time she’s settled in her seat and buckled in, she’s _fucking_ cursing aviation travel to unspeakable lengths; lamenting begrudgingly how much she wishes she could just apparate, instead of having to sit through the 3-hour or so flight.

 

She just, abso- _fucking_ -lutely hates flying. 

 

She hates how it seems to trigger something in her. She really doesn’t even understand it herself. Her hands would all of a sudden be clammy and she would start feeling as if she just bested everyone else’s beep time record where she’d be sweating profusely and her throat would tighten up and then she’d just be gasping out for air. And just… the stuff of nightmares come to life really.

 

It’s her own glorified version of a panic attack gone infinitely worse at 39,000 feet above the ground. Sometimes, she can also be _that_ extra.

 

Despite her current luck though, she finds herself still thankful for the miracle of small blessings and all. Particularly on this flight she’s on, as she was able to stave off the oncoming panic attack through choice breathing exercises and certain meditation techniques she was glad to have picked up on and selectively listened to over these past couple of years or so. 

 

And thus, she soldiers on. Even though her noise-cancelling headphones proved futile next to the unworldly snoring to her right and the relentless brown-nosing to her left. For such a small frame, the pre-teen sure could sound like a grizzly hibernating. And that’s saying a LOT, coming from her, as she’d had to endure Jeffrey’s booming bellows on far too many family trips than she’d like to remember.

 

She instead focuses her attention back to Chance, once again silently thanking the skies up above for the serendipitous way Spotify shuffles to Alicia’s sweet crooning. She reclines back in her seat and closes her eyes.

 

Around 15 ‘til midnight, she’s greeting the building’s doorman, Chad; who’d at last stopped looking like a deer caught in the headlights whenever she showed up in the middle of the night unannounced.

 

“Hey Chad!” She tips her snapback in salutation, breezing past the heavy-set man in his desk. “What’s up?” She moves towards the elevators and pushes the button.

 

Chad returns the gesture with his peaked cap. “Slow night tonight.” Nodding off to her direction. “Great game by the way.” He gives her a thumbs up. “I’m starting to feel like I’m two-timing Chi-Town.” He chuckles heartily.

 

That makes her laugh in boisterous delight in return. “Hey… nothing wrong with spreading a little footy love, right?” She winks in a conspiratorial gesture.

 

“Ehhh… we loyal, man. We loyal.” Chad raises both arms in mock surrender.

 

The elevator dings and opens.

 

“Fair enough…” She concedes as she presses their floor number. “Take it easy, man.” She calls out before the door completely closes; throwing a half wave towards the guy’s direction for good measure.

 

She pulls out her phone and smirks in content. She texted as soon as she’d landed to avoid suspicion, saying how she was already on her way back to the hotel. Before she flew out, she’d fired off a text explaining she might not be able to reply much because her team was supposedly going out for drinks with her in tow. She’d told Allie and the rest to cover for her, as subtle as they can, of course. Just enough, in case her person somehow gets wind of her scheming. Which, much to everyone else’s shock and surprise, she could proudly assert to be highly unlikely.

 

Even though she’d just gotten her flights changed at the _very_ last minute, care of Rich and his arm-twisting ways, she’d already been concocting this elaborate ruse for over a month now.

 

Again, the irony could not be any more lost on her.

 

Who would’ve guessed? She was very much certain, to the point where she would’ve even made a hefty bet (and she isn’t a gambling woman), that should she divulge her scheme to any listening ear, she’ll only be met with blank stares and confused expressions.

 

And she was… met with a blank stare and a confused expression that is, when she finally told Allie in the locker room 10 minutes before she went rushing back to the hotel to get her stuff. After two full minutes of silence, her best friend snapped out of the trance and proceeded to rag her about a ring and whatever else the woman thought was relevant and pertinent to their conversation.

 

She should’ve definitely placed that bet.

 

She doesn’t do this. She doesn’t make plans far ahead in the future. And yes, a month’s time away in her universe is considered the future; so no, don’t judge. She doesn’t even like surprises. _Well_ … that’s not entirely true. She _does_ like surprises—so long as she’s only _attending_ them and not the one organizing them.

 

So yeah… this pretty much feels like an out-of-body experience for her. She doesn’t however, much to her mild indignation, feel like the pod person Allie’s accused her of. And she would fight, no questions asked, anyone who’d tell her otherwise.

 

And now, looking at her phone, it seems that her text buddy had fallen asleep on her, what with her last message sent 20 minutes ago still remaining unanswered.

 

The elevator finally opens to their floor. Balancing both her luggage on one shoulder, she eagerly gaits towards their shared unit. She stops in front of the door excitedly and puts down her bags as quietly as she can so her slightly free hand could open the box of Molly’s she’s been clutching almost reverently in her right hand.

 

As part of her ruse, she’d actually taken to social media stalking. Even going to DM lengths just to secure a dozen of the foodgasmic, sin-filled monstrosity she’d specifically requested for tonight.

 

She uses the box to block the peep hole in an attempt to perpetuate the suspense and hide her face from view. Her left hand struggles to grip her phone as it precariously dangles from her hand, along with the bouquet she’d pre-ordered the month prior, which she has diligently picked up on her way over.

 

She’s made sure to pull out all the stops—absolutely not half-assing nor leaving anything to chance. It even astounds her how fool-proof she’s planned this night. And like, she’s had it down from plan A to contingency plan B all the way through Z. Case in point, she wasn’t well above to calling in that personal favor for a chartered flight should the Rich thing falls through. She’s essentially thought of every other scenario and the subsequent curve balls that might snag. So far though, she’s had pretty much all of her ducks in a row her mom would _never_ believe she’s pulling this off.

 

She unlocks her phone with nimble ease, looks up her Favorites and taps on the call button.

 

It all but takes four rings before the other end is answered with a much recognizable groan that would always knock the air out of her lungs. She just can’t help but find it adorable and endearing. She can’t really help but find _her_ adorable and endearing. She bites her lower lip to stifle a grin.

 

“Hey…” She hears the woman breathe out in a grunt, which can only be best described as a marriage in commensurate levels of charming and carnal, all at the same time—if that were even possible. “What time is it?” She couldn’t help but giggle as she catches a yawn escape from the other end of the line, sleep still pretty evident from the voice reverberating off the earpiece. “Oh shoot! I fell asleep, didn’t I? Sorry…” The voice trails off.

 

“You’re fine.” She moves to lean back against the opposite wall; setting down the box on top of her duffle bag temporarily. She’s wanting to get a little bit comfortable so she could somehow draw out the conversation (caution: blatant flirting up ahead).

 

The real ulterior motive though is, she just wants to hear the woman’s voice. Plain and simple. Like, they were just talking on the phone before she left for her flight and now, not even a respectable amount of time has passed (in a non-stalkery/clingy/Gatsby-level-obsession kind of standard anyone would ever consider) and she can’t seem to get enough of just hearing the woman talk. And they could just talk about _any_ thing under the sun and nothing through the trenches of the deep. And what’s ineffable about it is, she could truthfully care less or even bring herself to mind.

 

She would never admit this out loud to any soul, living and/or dead—not even to the woman in question, really—how hopelessly and helplessly weak she’s been reduced to these days. And that’s not to say that she doesn’t ever want to profess her undying devotion nor sing hymns or arias until her voice gives out. Of course she’d want to tell her. She would want to witness first-hand the look that would sure pass on the girl’s ethereal features once she does decide to surrender the entirety of her utter being—her whole heart, her undivided mind, her complete body and her absolute soul.

 

She’s just biding her time… working up the courage, so to speak.

 

As it follows, it’s sure as hell insane how her baller street cred has somehow been diminished to heart-eyes and mooning oaf whenever she’s around her. And honestly? She wouldn’t trade that for _anything_ in the world.

 

“So uh… Did you—did you guys just get back?”

 

She finds herself smiling through the receiver. “Yeah… we just did. _I_ just did.”

 

“ _Oh_ … How was it? Did you guys have fun? Did you _at least_ made sure you hydrate?” Her smile couldn’t be bigger.

 

“Yeah… I didn’t really drink _that_ much?” She contemplates whether the pre-flight glass of Old Fashioned counts.

 

The woman yawns again. “Gosh… I can’t believe I’m sooooo _tired_. Have you changed for bed yet? Aren’t you tired? I just wanna go back to bed and sleep for _ever_. Can we go back to bed please? Let’s go to bed babe…” The woman all but moans dreamily and she’s almost tempted to just start banging on the door to be let in so she could also get her cuddle in.

 

“No, not yet…” She’s outright snickering at this point. “I’m…” She smirks to herself. “I’m actually still outside.”

 

This catches her sleep-hungry person’s attention.

 

“Huh?” She could already picture the woman’s eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “How come? Did you get locked out? Did you lose your keycard again?”

 

She chuckles giddily. “ _Nooooo_ … Why’d you think I’ve lost my keycard?” She shakes her head amusedly.

 

“Baaaaaabe…” She’s positive the woman’s rolling her eyes at that very moment. She hears her sigh.

 

“Seriously though.” She’s practically beaming. “That was **one** time. And if I remember correctly, that was _your_ fault.”

 

“One time that I _know_ _of_.” This woman is certainly going to be the death of her—and what a sweet and awesome-beyond-words death it would be. She hears the sheets rustling over the earpiece, which means she’s got the woman’s full attention now. “And pray tell, how was that _my_ fault?”

 

“You got me drunk.” She fires back in sass. “You’d been wanting to take advantage of poor ol’ me that you hatched out this sinister plot, got me drunk and caused me to _mis_ place my keycard. For the record babe, you never really need to get me drunk when you wanna get some.” She smugly grins.

 

“You’re so full of it and you know it.”

 

“Well not yet, I’m not.” Her voice drops an octave.

 

“Oh my… _wow_. Really?!? You’re— That was _so_ bad. Like so… so, so bad.” The mirth in the woman’s voice is too much for her heart to handle.

 

“Oh come on! What d’you mean it was bad? How was that _bad_?” She’s giggling through her words.

 

“ _Not yet, I’m not_? Seriously? It’s like you’re not even trying.”

 

“Oh _sure_ … Not even trying. Pffft! If I didn’t know any better—”

 

“If you didn’t know any better what?” She gets cut off.

 

“Oh you know… that your face’s as red as a tomato right now.”

 

The smug grin spreading on her face is magnified as she’s met with sputtering on the other end of the line as the woman clings to find some composure. “I-it’s not… I’m not…”

 

“ _Uh huh_ … you do know you have a tell, right?” She drawls out.

 

“I do not!” The woman gasps in mock petulance.

 

“Yes you do…” She tries to push her luck further and answers in a sing-songy manner she just knows would rile up the girl even more.

 

She hears huffing and puffing over the earpiece and she can’t help but be utterly bewitched by this, her person. She can just picture that charming and oh-so kissable pout gracing her girl’s lips.

 

She smiles dreamily. “ _Babe_ , your voice goes up a notch when you’re blushing and it goes into this really cute and adorable tone where it’s like you’re trying to squirm away and burrow your head under the ground. It’s like you’re that ostrich we saw that one time.”

 

“Lies…”

 

“It’s beyond cute and adorable though. _You’re_ beyond cute and adorkable.”

 

“Oh _whatever_ …”

 

“And now I’m pretty sure you’re rolling your eyes. Quite exaggeratedly, might I add.”

 

“So what? Did you hook up hidden cameras all over the apartment now?!?”

 

“ _Maybe_ … Or maybe, I also know a thing or two about _you_.”

 

“Ugh… you’re perhaps the most insufferable person ever.” She giggles even more after hearing the woman scoff, trying to still feign the annoyance.

 

“Yes, that I am. But I am _your_ most insufferable person.” She puffs up her chest, chuckling to herself. “So anyway… about that Tyler and Will thing in December.”

 

“Which Tyler and Will thing?”

 

“You know… the cooking class.”

 

“Ohhhkaaaaay… Yeah? What about it?” She could pick up a midge of trepidation from the woman’s tone.

 

“Well, I’ve been doing some thinking.”

 

“ _Some_ thinking?” She pictures having this conversation in front of her person and she’s just for certain that the girl would be narrowing her eyes at this point of the exchange.

 

“Yeah… and I mean, I _guess_ , it could be fun.”

 

“So are you saying what I think you’re saying?” She just knows the woman is seconds away from squealing into her ear.

 

“Mmm…” She moves her phone away momentarily as the squealing does commence.

 

“You’re. The. _Best_!” Her person screams in utter excitement.

 

“Well _yeah_. I mean, haven’t we established that as fact already?”

 

“You silly goose.” That earns her a chuckle in response. “Seriously though, thanks for giving it some thought.”

 

“Well like, I was thinking… you know, how _educational_ it’d be. I bet the dessert part of that session would for sure give me ideas. I mean, chocolate... strawberries...  _whipped_ cream.”

 

She hears full-scale, rambunctious laughter over the earpiece. “You’re— You’re just _such_ a teenager sometimes, I don’t even know what to do with you.”

 

“ _Hey_ … you can’t blame me. I can’t help that you’re just _fucking_ irresistible.” She licks her lips unconsciously.

 

“Okay. I’d need you to be in your room and in _your_ bed before we start this conversation. Seriously, d’you need to call front desk first baby?” Her heart swells a gazillion times upon hearing the concern in the woman’s voice.

 

“Nah… I’ve got my key.” She smirks as she pushes herself off the wall and resumes her previous stance. “The problem I have is…” She starts delicately while picking up the box of Molly’s. “I think _some_ one did the deadbolt from the inside so now… I’m stuck here.” She makes sure she oversells her teasing tone, all the while bringing the box back against the peep hole.

 

“What do you mean? Did Allie get home before you did?” She could practically hear the wheels spinning.

 

“Uhhhh… no, I don’t _think_ so.” She replies too sweetly. “Not unless…” She pauses for dramatic effect. “Not unless she beat me to O’Hare.” She all but spews out in one whole breath.

 

Silence.

 

It would be downright funny if she all of a sudden hears crickets and cicadas in the background, but she’d swear that she might as well have that cacophony of nature playing… croaking frogs and all.

 

“Uhhhh… _babe_?” She bets she looks ridiculously hilarious with how her face is currently contorting in equal parts bemusement and misery.

 

Even more silence ensues.

 

“You still there, rook?” She prods in a gentle voice.

 

“Y-you…” She’s rendered her person speechless. She chuckles heartily with this victory.

 

And then, as if a spell had suddenly been broken, there are sheets rustling again over the earpiece as she imagines the woman deliriously getting out of their shared bed in a flurry. She overhears frantic footsteps from the inside padding closer to the door.

 

The deadbolt is unlocked from the inside with haste and the door swings comically wide open.

 

“You _ass_ hole!”

 

She’s met with her beaming ray of sunshine.

 

And rainbows.

 

And unicorns.

 

And candy canes.

 

And just… the most beautiful woman she’s ever laid her eyes on.

 

Her face breaks into this ear-splitting grin as she takes in the bewildered girl in front of her; clad in an oversized lemonade pink long-sleeved sleep shirt with a Little Miss Sass print which she’s paired with a graphite-colored capri yoga pants and emerald green argyle socks which run up to mid her svelte calves. Hair is sticking out from all over the place and the girl’s eyes are still heavy with sleep. But fuck… **_Fuck_** , she’s just…

 

She’s _fucking_ perfect.

 

And words? Standing there by the doorjamb, there weren’t enough words that could possibly articulate how exquisitely stunning the woman is.

 

She observes how the green in the woman’s eyes have suspiciously become darker with every passing moment. She smiles dopily in response, unable to contain the giddiness threatening to burst out from the seams. She lowers the hand clutching the box of Molly’s oh-so religiously and deftly maneuvers the other holding the bouquet.

 

“Red tulips?” The woman breathes out shakily.

 

“Happy Anniversary Chris…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah... I jumped the gun on this one and posted much sooner than I'd want to. I just needed to get this off my hands so I can finish the third chapter. And yeah, if I haven't mentioned yet (and like, you guys would've probably figured by now), chapter titles are off the chapter song recs. Which might be a spoiler alert, but meh, we'll cross the bridge when we get there.
> 
> Oh and, the temptation to draw this out and throw a fork in the road is lurking. On one hand though, they say good things come in 3s soooo... roll the dice? 
> 
> (p.s. the third chapter might get posted in a couple more days or so, depending on what the dice say)


	3. What are you afraid of?

_Living out of a suitcase._

 

She once overheard her father mention it in passing. She must’ve been around 5 or 6 and when she first heard it, it caused such a mind bend her mom caught her spaced out far too many times the week after. Granted, she’s been known to usually have her head stuck in the clouds in any given day anyway. That particular week however, she’d been inordinately spacier than normal that by the time Friday rolled around, her mom started prodding after catching her zoned out yet again for what seemed like the millionth time that day.

 

“How tall is dad again?” She recalls asking her mom that afternoon.

 

Her mom, bless the goodness of that woman’s heart, nose crinkled in response and peered at her questioningly for a beat before answering; most likely, debating internally whether to indulge the quirky third born or yank the bandage straightaway, in a manner of speaking.

 

Her mom’s the ultimate rock star though so she aptly gets the ultimate rock star reply.

 

“Uhhh… he’s about 6’2, 6’3? Give or take?”

 

She distinctly remembers the gleeful way her mom chuckled in amusement when she finally voiced her thoughts out loud that late afternoon.

 

“Dad played a lot of sports, didn’t he? You know, when he was a kid like me and stuff?” Her mom had hummed in acknowledgment, breezing busily through the kitchen and multitasking between feeding Jeffrey in his booster chair and preparing dinner.

 

“But not gymnastics though, right? Or like, he didn’t go to circus camp or anything? Is there even a circus camp? Ooooohhh… Can _I_ sign up for circus camp this summer?”

 

In hindsight, she would’ve patted her younger self on the back with this top-notch line of questioning. She might have a future in law enforcement or perhaps, the judicial system even. In all seriousness though, she can’t help but admire her mom’s patience in dealing with the little shit that she was… the little shit which she _still_ is.

 

She was working on an assignment at the kitchen island that Friday afternoon but she couldn’t, for the life of her, seem to focus because of what’s been eating away at her. Her mom had finally given her the reprieve and had ventured picking at her brain as she about looked to self-combust and spiral into the mind bend she’d drawn herself into. Thankfully, both of her sisters were nowhere in sight. She was for certain to be at the brunt end of the relentless teasing if her sisters had been there.

 

“Honey, what’s with all the 20 questions?” Her mom had asked her, eyes narrowing in forethought.

 

“I mean… I guess I just don’t get it?” She’d shrugged in a noncommittal manner.

 

“You don’t get what?” Her mom had looked at her encouragingly hoping she’d just confide what’s been bothering her all week.

 

“You know how dad is really tall? Like, really, _really_ tall? And I mean, I don’t even think he could do that with his arms or his legs or that he can twist his body around and like… can he?? Like, you know how that one guy from the Olympics and he was all bendy and twisty and… I mean, how is that _even_ possible?!?”

 

“Honey, you’d have to be more specific than that.”

 

“It’s just… dad would probably have to get a huge one of those made, right? So like, he would still have room to move around and stuff. And then I was just thinking, what about all his other things, you know… like his clothes, pillows, his keys...”

 

“A huge what made, sweetie?”

 

“You know, a suitcase! I heard you and dad talking last Sunday before we all went out to church and like he had to leave and drive up again to the airport and stuff. And he was saying he was getting tired, which I could totally understand. I know I’d be tired too if I was living out of a suitcase. But I guess I’d have more room for my cleats and my ball and some of my toys and clothes and stuff, coz like I’m waaaaaay smaller than dad is and I’m sure I could easily fit in inside. I mean, as long as he’d get me one of those big suitcases too I guess.”

 

“Oh sweetie… has that what’s been bothering you this past week?”

 

“Well… yeah. I just… I’ve been trying to figure it out and like… I just, couldn’t. You know, _figure it out_.” She’d been reminded how defeated she felt that week. She’d been trying to come up with different kinds of probable answers but she’d always seemed to end up blank and empty. She’d just been stumped.

 

It was one of the first times she second guessed herself. For that entire week, she’d caught herself thinking how she might be a failure and a loser. She was young, so yeah… she felt like crap (*cough* cut her some slack *cough*). That was until her mom gallantly swooped in and brought her back to earth from up above in her clouds.

 

“That’s just an expression, honey.”

 

“What is?”

 

“Living out of a suitcase. It’s an expression, a figure of speech.”

 

“An… expression?”

 

“Mmm… It’s kind of like this thing used to describe someone’s thoughts or feelings or even a certain situation. It doesn’t really mean that dad’s actually living _out of_ _a_ suitcase. You know how dad’s been traveling a lot for his work?”

 

“Yeah…?”

 

“So dad is always in different cities at times and staying in different hotel rooms. Just like that weekend when we visited up north. He’s been going to these places it seems his suitcase is glued to him and he’s living with it. Does that make sense honey?”

 

“I guess. I mean… that’s really a good thing though. I was really starting to get worried about dad and his back. You know, he’d for sure need to crouch down and crawl just to get into the suitcase. And that can’t be comfy for too long.”

 

Her mom had just smiled at her then with sheer fondness, kissed the top of her head and told her to wash up for dinner and to call her sisters.

 

When she thinks about it, there’s something sublimely poetic about how her life has somehow unfolded and been condensed into an expression—this, figure of speech. _Living out of a suitcase_. This was her life now. This _is_ her life now.

 

In her late teens through her mid-20s, she’d found herself far too enamored with the whimsical allure of the never-ending wanderlust. She just couldn’t seem to stay put in one place for x amount of time. She _always_ had to be on the go.

 

She’d at times show up in the middle of the night in Brooklyn without so much as a heads up, apart from a text message (if she even remembers, that is) that would’ve been sent half an hour prior, meant only as an afterthought. Sometimes, she’d end up somewhere west, cozying up in someone else’s couch or if she’s lucky, taking residence for a week or so in an available guest bedroom.

 

And as much as she detests flying, the inexplicable pull of constant motion serves almost as good enough of a reason to brave inhaling recycled air if it meant her hunger for perpetual mobility would be sated. A friend once likened her to a shark, which as cliché as it sounded, made her feel smug. She’d just shrugged _sharks are badass_ and that was that. Because just like a shark, as if her mortality depended on it, she’d needed to be in an unending flux of movement.

 

That was _then_.

 

That was when she was younger and didn’t know any better. That was when she lived her life as if she were a sponge, eager to soak up as much experience and memories as she could—anywhere and everywhere she can. That was when time seemed to trickle at a snail’s pace and she had more of that social construct to go around. That was when nothing tethered her and no one pinned her down.

 

And yet now, at this stage in her life, the appeal and wonder she’d fallen in love with in her younger years seems to be gradually mellowing out. Funny as it may be, and she’ll be the first one to point this out, she’s old. She’s _getting_ old. _It’s_ getting old. And it’s slowly becoming more of a chore that… it’s tiring. She’s getting tired. Nature will tell you that with age comes a decline in one’s physical fortitude. So maybe… she’s tired because she’s getting old. Or perhaps… it’s getting old because she’s tired.

 

She’s brooding over all of this as she reclines back in her not-so-comfy-and-barely-cushiony spot. She’s once again in another airport (no surprise there)—JFK, this time around. It is way too late in the evening but the place is still buzzing nonetheless. She surveys the floor and sees a bunch of her teammates huddled in small groups; caught up in their own little worlds.

 

Becky’s on the floor in front of her (Switch in hand) and the woman had all but given up in nudging her for a rematch. She’d set down her console a few minutes ago when Christen abruptly stood up from her side; saying she’d just go over to catch up with Julie and Ali for a little bit. Most probably to get some semblance of respite and get away from her. She’d been put on a timeout (whatever that even meant), so things were a tad bit amiss between them. Things are still _normal_ , by definition of the word. They are still chatty and flirty, even. Apart from the fact that, there’s this dark cloud looming over both of their heads.

 

Christen tells her it’s not an ultimatum. She’s been told—repeatedly—that it’s not a deal breaker. But she sure as hell feels like it is one.

 

Christen had requested to be traded in January when the LA club finally happened. Ever since there’d been rumors around a Cali expansion team, the woman had been more than upfront of her plans to transfer. The move was like nothing they couldn’t handle before. They soon fell back into their routine of airports and red-eyes and trying to cheat time of its own self. They haven't even really needed to be away from each other for longer than 2 weeks at a time, since they’d been in camp together more often than not. So when a couple of weeks ago, the capital letter F word had been thrown in a conversation, all of a sudden, both of them knew that the scales would marginally be tipped over—sooner or later.

 

She’d tried to deflect as much and as hard as she could with her playful distractions (read: the art of subtle-yet-not-so-subtle seduction). And it did work, for a few days it did; where the only F words that came out between the two of them were the distinctly four letter non-PG slang. Much as they’d want to exhaust intimacy to divert both of their attention, they’d found that one could only endure marathons of copulation; no matter how fit that person is. Soon enough, they had to deal; the can of worms had been opened.

 

Which is the reason why she’s currently on a timeout; as Christen emphasized in spades the night before.

 

Other than that, things are at a status quo. They are at a status quo… for the most part, that is. And it’s not so much as though other people have really taken notice that something’s off right away; not unless, they were paying way too close of an attention.

 

Or that one of them was Kelley.

 

“What’d you do?” Kelley sidles up next to her. She should’ve known the woman’s bloodhound instincts were unrivaled.

 

“What do you mean?” She tries to fend her off, albeit, with no such success, seeing as this is Shamus O’Hara she’s talking to.

 

The woman, as predicted, just looks at her dead on as if to say “ _really now?!?”_ —like a look like that would even compel her to fess up (not that she has anything to own up to anyhow). She just doesn’t want to talk about it. Period. Not with Kelley (not right now anyway, she doesn’t). Not with their other teammates lurking around. And most especially, not when Christen’s within earshot, just a couple of rows away from them.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, dude.”

 

Kelley sizes her up again and then turns the attention to Becky. “What did the doofus do this time?”

 

A noise of annoyance escapes her lips. She rolls her eyes in exaggeration.

 

Meanwhile, Becky, who was so engrossed with whatever game she’d been currently playing, simply glances up from the handheld console and quirks an eyebrow.

 

“Okaaaaaaay… since clearly I could not smoke out an answer from _either_ of you—I might as well go to the source. And let me tell _you_ …” The brunette tells her pointedly, moving to stand up. “I was giving you the benefit of the doubt—“

 

“ _Kell_ …” She voices in gritted teeth as she all but yanks the woman back to her seat, with a tad bit more force than she initially intended.

 

“ _Oomph!_ ”

 

“Nothing’s the matter, okay? Things are _fine_. We _are_ fine. Great, even! Never been better…”

 

The woman studies her intently for what seemed like an eternity. Kelley is a totally different animal whenever she gets all mother-hen-guns-a-blazin’ wack just like this; she, for one, would never dare to be at the receiving end of this crazed beast’s beat down. But then suddenly, as if all of her silent prayers have been answered courtesy of a timely divine intervention, they hear the announcement that their flight is ready to start boarding.

 

Becky merely offers her a sympathetic smile and gets up, luggage in tow, treading towards their terminal gate.

 

“Saved by the bell, Tobs… saved by the bell.” She shakes her head in defeat as Kelley starts walking away with that sharply savage swag. “I’m on to you Heath!” The woman hisses out, gesturing wildly with two fingers for good measure.

 

She’s well aware that this is hardly the last of this conversation. Kelley’s known both of them for the longest time that it wasn’t really a surprise she got the third degree. She would’ve preferred a more discreet location and perhaps a bit more respect on boundaries, however, this was Kelley she’s dealing with and she’s learnt that it’s best to be on her toes at all times as sneak attacks are bound to be more than frequent. She even worries sometimes that she’s beginning to develop a complex, what with all the craziness she’s been put through.

                                                                        

 _Saved by the bell_ , indeed.

 

She picks up Christen’s bag and hands it to the approaching woman. “Ready?”

 

She nods almost imperceptibly, slings her own bags on her shoulders and moves to follow her person. Might as well… she thinks to herself.

 

Due to a ticketing glitch, she finds herself seated away from Christen and instead, by some stroke of good luck, secures a godsend immunity in the form of Casey. She did make sure to put on her headphones as soon as she got to her seat, lest she gets grilled by Allie, who was just sitting on the row behind them. Her best friend had been giving her a version of the evil eyes ever since Kelley plopped down beside her and ambushed her. She doesn’t really need this kind of attention from _every_ one. Not now, at least. And she most definitely doesn’t want to be talking to _any_ one. She and Christen haven’t even broached the subject since the meltdown from last night.

 

She buckles in and slinks further in her seat. She just wants her peace and quiet. She closes her eyes and hopes that the 7 hour or so flight gives her that.

 

They land in Charles de Gaulle a little over 7 hours later. Both Kelley and Allie had thought it’d be an awesome idea to combine forces and tag team on her (good thing Alex had been more or less preoccupied with Syd and Ali, else she’d also have to hold the woman at bay). She actually almost got cornered in Immigration by the dynamic duo, which she’d now forever refer to as Tweedledum and Tweedledee. She makes a mental note to give both of them hell over this. She would’ve been a sitting duck if not for Christen, who’d stealthily snuck behind her and became a permanent fixture by her side even as they exited.

 

Another three hours later, which included a quick stop at a press junket, and they’re heading towards the hotel. She’s mostly stuck close to Christen all throughout the junket thing, using her person as her own human shield, which proved quite effective as she was able to keep the questioning glares directed towards her at arm’s length.

 

She gets roomed with Mal—another one of those small blessings. The younger girl is oblivious enough not to bother her with _Christen_ stuff even though both women are pretty close. She knows she has the upper hand in this situation, given that she has seniority (a fact she would always brush off as senseless entitlement). She’s just beyond relieved that Mal would be another one of her little reprieves, even if it were for just a day or two.

 

She stirs to emphatic knocking as she catches herself alone in the quiet room. It seems that her younger teammate had left their shared hotel room more or less 30 minutes or so ago. She can’t really remember since she’d pretty much sunk under the covers as soon as her bags were lugged by the foot of her bed. She waits and listens, not bothering to move a single muscle.

 

The incessant knocking continues.

 

She figures that if she just kept still, whoever was by the door, would eventually give up and go away. She’s not having _that_ kind of luck today however. She swings her legs over and reluctantly trudges to see who the fuck would be _insensitive_ enough to bother her. She has a clear idea who it— _they_ —might be, but when she takes a peek to see who’s standing outside, the unexpectedness of it mildly piques her curiosity.

 

She opens the door and then glides back to her side of the room, only to plop face down again on her bed.

 

“You look like crap.” She hears the woman call after her as the door is promptly shut closed.

 

“ _Gee_. _Thanks_.” She mumbles through the pillows.

 

“Kelley said you screwed up again.”

 

She rolls over on her back, rubbing both her hands on her face. “Why does _every_ one automatically assumes I fucked up?”

 

“Well if it’s any consolation, I think the both of you are idiots.”

 

“Christen’s _never_ an idiot.” Despite their current pickle, she’d arms up defend her person with her last breath.

 

“No, you’re right. Although… I think I might need to start questioning her life choices, especially for putting up with your stupid ass.”

 

“I—I have _non_ -stupid moments…”

 

“And like, whatever it is you both are _not being_ stupid about _makes_ her an idiot, basically.”

 

“It’s complicated, Alex.” She pushes herself up against the headboard.

 

“Then uncomplicated things. Start with something simple.” Alex settles on the edge of Mal’s bed, trying to find a more comfortable position.

 

“It’s not…” She heaves a deep breath.

 

“Is this about your ego? Because we have a pot going and those Louboutins I saw would just be perfect for the Espys.”

 

“You’re all assholes, d’you know that?” She throws one of her pillows at the woman.

 

Alex snatches it with ease. “Seriously though Tobs.”

 

“Did _they_ send you here?”

 

“ _They_ might be prone to overreacting but, they’re your friends and naturally they worry. _We_ worry. And no, I volunteered coz I know you wouldn’t open the door for either of them. Not right away anyway…”

 

“Did she… did she say anything?”

 

“We both know she doesn’t have to say anything and the entire world would just _know_ regardless. Though I’d have to say, I’m quite impressed. At least she’s gotten a bit _better_ with the face journeys and shit.” Alex squints up at her with worried eyes. “You need to get your shit together, Tobs.”

 

She scoffs.

 

“You _both_ do.”

 

“Things are fine, Alex. _We’re_ fine.”

 

“Are you seriously insulting me with that generic bullshit?”

 

“It’s not BS…”

 

“Well I just wanna let you know that we’ve talked about it. _Christen_ would naturally get custody of Kelley, you’re _obviously_ stuck with me and Allie? Allie has agreed to joint custody.”

 

“You guys are seriously _un_ believable! I mean… I don’t even know why we’re friends sometimes.”

 

“It’s because you love us and we love you despite how much of an idiot you’re being. Besides, who else was gonna call you out on your shit?”

 

“I appreciate the concern.”

 

Alex just looks at her skeptically.

 

“Seriously, I do. But like I said, there’s nothing to be worried about. Chris and I are fine. Things are _fine_.”

 

“I really hope for your sake that you’re right. Coz like, that custody thing isn’t set in stone and I don’t know… I _might_ wake up one day and find myself over in Team Christen… Just sayin’.” Her pillow smacks her right in the face.

 

“ _Fuck_ off.”

 

The door opens without warning and she’s beyond floored to see the person darting towards them.

 

“Hey… Am I interrupting anything?”

 

“Nope, not really.” Alex stretches to stand up. “I was just about to leave.”

 

“You sure? Coz I could just come back.”

 

“Nah… I’m done yelling at Toby for being an idiot. It’s not like she’ll ever listen. And we all know she only listens to _you_. Catch you later Tobster.” Alex nods in her direction.

 

“ _I_ listen!” She responds indignantly.

 

“Suuuuuure you do, _buddy_.” Alex turns to the woman, winking in connivance. “If this _idiot_ gives you any more headaches, you know where to find us.”

 

“Thanks for checking up on her.” Both women step into each other’s arms. “We’ll catch you guys later.”

 

“Hey Alex! Tell Tweedledum and Tweedledee I’ve still got a bone to pick with them.” She yells out before the woman walks out of the door.

 

Alex shoots her this look that she just can’t quite discern, then the door is closed again and she’s left alone with her inevitable.

 

“Soooo… I know rules are rules and we’ve listed a bunch of them out and we have them for a reason but… I’ve asked Mal to switch, just for tonight.” The woman gingerly pads further into the room and collapses on the foot of her bed.

 

“ _Chris_ …”

 

“We don’t even have to sleep on the same bed. I could sleep on Mal’s.” Christen gets up and moves to the bed adjacent. “I just— We just left things last night… you know.” The woman shrugs. “And I know how you get when you’re like this and I… I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

 

“I thought I was on a timeout.” She doesn’t mean for it to come off snarky but it does.

 

“ _Oh_ I dunno… Am I still talking to the 5-year old?” Christen replies in retaliation.

 

She lets out a drawn out breath she doesn’t even know she’d been holding.

 

“ _Look_ , I didn’t come here for another bout of screaming. I’m sorry but… can we start talking about this like normal adults?”

 

“I wasn’t the one yelling and locking herself up last night.”

 

“Baby…” Christen peers at her with pleading eyes. “Can you please get your head out of your ass so you could hear how I’m trying to apologize here?”

 

She drops her head and starts fiddling with a loose thread on her shirt.

 

Christen carries on. “I’m sorry for losing it last night. I was annoyed and you were annoying and everything just compounded and I just… I’m sorry I took it out on you. That was a dick move on my part.”

 

“Glad to hear you admit it.” She replies petulantly.

 

“Tobin…”

 

“What? Who the hell puts someone over the age of 5 on timeouts? Like, seriously??”

 

“It’s not like you didn’t deserve it.”

 

“Oh _good_. Here we go again.” She pulls her knees up and stares up at the ceiling.

 

“Stop… Just— Can we please just start over?” Christen climbs in bed beside her with caution.

 

“I’m saying I’m sorry for having a stick up my ass.” The woman reaches out to her and she feels a warm and soft hand cup her cheek. “I can be _such_ an idiot.”

 

“I’m saying it doesn’t matter anymore.” She forces herself not to look at those green and oh-so intoxicating eyes. “I was wrong to lose sight of what’s _really_ important.”

 

“I’m saying _fuck_ the distance.” This finally gets her to take in the woman in front of her. “I could care less whether you stay up north or that we’d have to spend most of our time shuttling back and forth.”

 

“What I’m saying is I don’t know what the future holds for us.” She chews her bottom lip anxiously as she waits for the woman to continue. “But what I do know is, I’d want that kind of future with your annoying face and your insufferable everything in it.”

 

“I know this is terrible timing with our first game right around the corner but, we’re in one of the most romantic cities in the world and I just know I have to...” Christen shakily draws out a simple white gold band from her pocket. “Spend that future with me?”

 

Her eyes bore into green-gray orbs and all she could see is a deluge of joy and hope and trust and respect and contentment and just… unadulterated love and affection.

 

She opens her mouth to respond.

 

“I hate you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song rec: Stuck With Me by Timeflies
> 
> Soooo yeah... if it makes anyone feel any better, I think the one writing this is a real piece of work and I hate her and... (oh wait...).
> 
> Final chapter to be posted *fingers crossed* later in the week. Thanks for reading!


End file.
